


Single-Handed

by PreludeInZ



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, end of the line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreludeInZ/pseuds/PreludeInZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>Because I was quite pleased with it, and I wanted to edit and clean it up from it’s drabbly state, here is a little ficlet I wrote about <a href="http://run-run-rabbit-run.tumblr.com/post/105095187614/do-not-open-until-smissmass-merry-christmas-tf2"> a picture</a>by <a class="tumblelog" href="http://tmblr.co/mKIsk0o9rd0VqhlgnqKEo8A">run-run-rabbit-run</a>. Thank you for the inspiration! I love eotl!Scout. I desperately wanted to write some hyper competent badass!Scout. I don’t get to fulfill that nearly often enough in my writing.</p><p>So! Here is an End of the Line fanfic. There’s fanart, there can be fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Single-Handed

Well. The pigeon bomb hadn’t worked either, but at least they’d found the source of the problem. It hadn’t been difficult to narrow it down. The lookout post RED had established wasn’t much of a bottleneck, not with only two other mercs manning it. It had been the problem before, though. With the pigeon bomb. They probably shouldn’t have left the RED Sniper to an uncertain fate, as last time he’d managed to pick off enough pigeons at distance to drop the bomb onto the tracks and foil any further attempts by rail. He had just looked so funny, upended in the top of the chimney, stick legs waving comically as Soldier lit a fire in the fireplace beneath him.

At least the RED team’s Scout would be an insurance policy. He’d put up a hell of a fight. Heavy’s nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, blood freezing on his face, in his beard. Medic would be annoyed. No one had been under any illusions that the Scout would be  _cooperative_ , but they’d hoped not to have to  _really_  hurt him. They’d even tried to reason with him, suggesting the traditional interpretation of the easy way vs. the hard way. But in the end it had taken Demo managing to snag the Scout’s scrawny ankle as he scrambled out a third storey window to catch him. He’d lost his grip on the icy eave of the roof, yelped and dropped like a rock. If the snow hadn’t drifted deep against the wall below the window, probably he would have broken his neck, and they would have needed to unstick the RED!Sniper from the chimney for a hostage instead.

As it was, they’d hauled him out of the drift semi-conscious and breathless from the impact, covered in snow and already shivering. Tied him up at the wrists and ankles, gagged him, because that was apparently a necessity with Scouts of all shades, and thrown him in the bed of the Engineer’s truck.

Heavy wrote a note. Short, to the point. To be found by any stupid REDs concerned by a lack of reports from their checkpoint. If the Sniper suffocated and respawned at the far end, he would probably bring the news before anyone could even read the note. Still. Prudence.

The RED Scout was substantially more miserable, colder, and madder when they got back to base. Soldier’s nose was broken in the act of getting him out of the back of the truck, and even restrained it took two of them to drag him inside by the ankles, still kicking and fighting and swearing furiously through a mouthful of cotton. There was some unkind teasing. Remarks were made about parentage. The Soldier might have slapped him hard enough to solicit another pained yelp, and make his nose to bleed.

They tossed him in a back room, and set their own Scout to guarding him, which he did, gleefully. It would have been poor form to gag a teammate, whose taunting on its own was, impossibly, louder than the pair of them could have been, combined. Still, the suggestion was considered.

After an hour or so, there was an irate slam of the backroom door, and their Scout hunched out, growling. There was silence from the room behind him. He wandered off about the base, bored with his charge. Not that it mattered, anyway. There were other eyes on the door and at least now it was quiet. It was RED’s turn to make a move.

In hindsight, probably they should have left Pyro to guard the poor RED bastard. Pyro would have had the sense to leave the gag on him, the pair of them would have been about equal as far as conversational partners. Probably the RED Scout would at least have gotten an imaginary tea party out of the deal. Possibly imaginary cookies, Pyro was an impeccable host. Might have run the risk of Stockholm Syndrome, it was very hard to be annoyed with Pyro, even if you were one of those psychotic RED animals.

When Scout reappeared, he grumbled about the cold, huddled further into his parka, and pulled his scarf up further over his face. Thus muffled, he blasted the stupid RED viciously, for the mouth he had on him. The shit that had gotten said ‘bout his ma, holy christ, them filthy REDs. No manners at all, his Ma was a lady. Popped the dumb bastard a few in the face, that had shut him up. No kinda pretty boy now, no siree. See how Miss Pauling likes his dumb damn face now. Ugly son of a bitch. He’d had to go for a walk to cool off, he’d gotten so mad. Man. Gettin’ a cold, too that was bullshit.

His voice did sound a little different.

If Scout wasn’t going to be useful, he should probably at least go unload the truck. He had muttered bad temperedly about the wind and the snow and the dumb damn climate, at least the REDs weren’t snowed up, dumb fucks. Oughta go kick ‘em outta their stupid base, the bastards. What had they ever even done to deserve such a cushy spot? Nothin’, as far as he knew. For someone from New England, he really had no tolerance for cold weather.

Their first clue should have been the fact that the taunting had stopped. It was why they’d gagged the RED Scout in the first place, the pair of them were each as bad as the other, didn’t shut up unless you shut them up, and they had an especially difficult time ignoring each other. The second clue should have been the roar of the truck, starting up outside. the Engineer had patted his pockets at the distant sound of it, and, reassured by the presence of his keys, assumed all was well. In fairness, it had been hard to hear over the whistle of the wind.

It took the bomb going off for the BLU team to realize what had happened.

* * *

 

Sniper would have winged him, if he hadn’t remembered to shrug out of the stupid puffy parka. The warning shot had been a courtesy. It had taken him wedging a rock on the gas pedal and sending the damn BLU Engineer’s truck off the cliff edge to convince him that he wasn’t a BLU in disguise. Still, couldn’t help laughing at the Australian, in a fouler temper than usual, covered in soot with his eyebrows singed off.

“Ain’t funny. Could’ve died.”

“Ha! You? Like to see ‘em try, you’re friggin’ invincible, Snipes. And Imean that, too I ain’t just suckin’ up. Except, also, can I get a ride? Back to base?”

“Why?”

Scout shrugged, rubbed his nose. He was pretty sure he had a cold coming on, wasn’t that just friggin’ fantastic. “Well, on’ accounta how I won the match all single-handed an’ all. An’ on accounta I’ll be late, an’ it’s gonna be Christmas, an’ Miss Pauling’s gonna be mad if I’m late. Gonna go ice skating, her an’ me, and I am the best at skating. Spent the whole time up here learning. I’m real good. Please?”

“Well…”

“Oh! An’ I got her a present. Except, maybe she wouldn’t like it, though, she ain’t supposed to pick sides. Gotta respect that. Probably I can find her somethin’ better anyway, d’you think she’d like a kitten?” He rummaged in his pockets, pulled out a pair of bloodied dog tags. Grinned and offered them to Sniper. “Merry Christmas, pal. Sorry I couldn’t keep ‘em from stickin’ you in a chimney. Like Santa, though. They got Christmas in Australia?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Bah bloody humbug. Get in the van.”

“Thanks!”


End file.
